Howling Stones

by Alan Dean Foster

  The long skull turned back to her. “Not only from all over Torrelau, but from the length and breadth of the Parramat. I said this was a big thing.” He turned apologetic. “Remember when you asked me, friend Pu’il, if more than two stones were ever brought together at one time and I said no? I lied. This is the one time when many are gathered. It is a great and important secret, one that you will now share with the Parramati.”

  “Sounds like it.” Pulickel found himself wondering why the native had lied earlier. Perhaps the infrequency of this particular ceremony explained it. Jorana might have been saying that no more than two stones were brought together at any one time under normal conditions. Clearly this Goggelai was an exception to the usual rules. That made it only the more intriguing.

  “Are all the stones from all the islands used?”

  The big person eyed him as if perhaps he hadn’t learned so very much after all. “Of course not. What would be the point of combining earth and weather stones, or healing and fishing stones? No, the Goggelai requires the bringing together of more stones than any other ceremony, but they are all of one kind. It will take awhile to assemble them because they are used for nothing else but the Goggelai and have not been used in such a long time.”

  Fawn hoped that a description of the stones under discussion might offer a clue as to their function. “If they’re not healing stones or earth stones or any other kind of stone that we’re familiar with, then what are they?”

  Jorana’s reply was evocative without being informative. “They are the howling stones.”

  “So you bring all these howling stones together from all over the islands,” Pulickel noted, “and then what happens?”

  “No one can be sure,” the big person replied maddeningly, “except that roads are opened.”

  “How many of these howling stones are there?” Fawn noted that even though the busy villagers could easily overhear, all were studiously ignoring the conversation.

  Pulickel deduced from Jorana’s reply that this time the native was being honest with them. “I do not know.” Delicate hands fluttered. “I do not think that anyone knows for certain, not even the senior big persons of the outer islands. The howling stones have been held and watched over and unused for many generations. Only when all have been assembled in one place can they be counted and the answer to your questions known.”

  “Well,” Fawn told him, “we’re flattered that you’re doing this for us.”

  “We are not doing it for you,” Jorana corrected her. “We are doing it with you. To try to show you the depth and importance of preserving our kusum untrammeled.”

  That didn’t sound like someone anxious to sign a treaty of mutual aid and cooperation, Pulickel thought. But he did not comment. Perhaps he was misinterpreting.

  “There could be some danger. Or nothing at all may happen.” The big person was watching both of them closely.

  “We’ll take our chances.” Fawn smiled down at him. “You know that Pu’il and I aren’t afraid of a little danger. When is the ceremony to be held?”

  “In five days time, on the western slope of Mt. Erirota.”

  That in itself was interesting, Fawn mused. Normally, the far side of Erirota was off-limits even to big persons. She hadn’t been especially curious about it because reconnaissance vits showed nothing out of the ordinary, nothing but jungle and rocks. They revealed no crumbling temples, no ancient burial grounds. Obviously the region had great significance to the Torrelauans and to the Parramati in general, but it was not because it was rife with structural antiquities. Certainly it was an honor and a sign of confidence to be invited to attend a gathering there—especially after the incident involving Pulickel and the “borrowed” stones.

  “May we bring our recording tools along?” she asked.

  Jorana eyed her unblinkingly. “You may bring anything you wish, so long as you bring yourselves.”

  “And you can’t give us an idea of what we might expect to see?” Pulickel was reluctant to let the big person go.

  “I have never traveled the road of the howling stones,” the native told him. “No one living has. Who knows? Perhaps you will tell me.” His lips flowed in the equivalent of a grin. “It is told that through the Goggelai lies the road to wonders. Or there may be nothing. We will find out together.”

  Following Jorana’s departure, the two xenologists spent the rest of the morning studying and recording native activities along the river. Their thoughts, however, were on the earlier meeting and not on cultural explication.

  “What do you make of all this?” Fawn asked her colleague. “Of what Jorana said. Was he telling us everything, or was he being selective?”

  “I’m sure he was being selective. Or evasive. That bit about not knowing anything about what happens during the ceremony? I don’t think I buy that.”

  She made a face. “I guess we’re going to find out. You don’t think they’re inviting us to a big gathering so they can get rid of us?”

  “Why should they? If they wanted to dispose of me, why would they go to the trouble of bringing me back from the road the transportation stones took me down? They could have left me out there, wherever out there was, wandering around forever trying to get back on my own.”

  “Maybe that wouldn’t have been in accordance with kusum.” She watched the females working on the river-bank, but her mind wasn’t on it. “As you know, when it comes to collective decision making, the Parramati are more obtuse than anyone else on Senisran.”

  “Five days. We’ll want dual backups on all systems, and we’ll want to check them out at least a full day in advance.”

  She nodded without replying, knowing that he was talking more to himself now than to her. It was an aggravating habit, but one she found she was becoming comfortable with.

  18

  The ceremonial locale on the far side of Mt. Erirota was more attractive than impressive, a pristine grassy clearing high up on the slopes of the extinct volcano. Beyond the clearing the native vegetation grew thickly, reflecting the high rainfall the area received. Either the grassy sward was carefully maintained, Pulickel decided, or else it lay in a slight but significant rain shadow.

  It was early evening and Senisran’s compassionate sun lingered on the distant horizon, pausing briefly before its daily disappearance to paint scattered clouds with streaks of gold and crimson. Sunset was the only time of day that could reduce sea and sky on this world to insignificance, he mused as he soaked in the spectacular panorama.

  Irrespective of the incipient ceremony, the gathering itself was most impressive. It looked as if every big person in Parramat and not a few of their attendants had assembled in orderly fashion on the edge of the clearing. Recorders humming inconspicuously, he and Fawn stayed where Ascela and Jorana had left them. They had an excellent view and felt no need to roam.

  The assembled Parramati had dressed for the occasion in their finest regalia. Colorful woven skirts vied for attention with flamboyant headdresses and elaborate necklaces. Snouts, cheeks, eye sockets, and ears were decorated in vibrant facepaint while rings hung in profusion from long fingers and tails. Shoulder garlands of the rarest and most exotic flowers the archipelago had to offer filled the air with wild, confused perfume.

  Yet the gaudy spectacle belied the attitude of those present, which was solemn rather than celebratory.

  Having been made ready earlier, torches and standard-borne bone lanterns were brought forth and lit, their individual lights strengthening as that of the sun faded. Querying Ascela as to the ceremony’s duration, Pulickel was told that it would take as long as it took, a response that grated on the xenologist’s sense of the precise.

  The Torrelauapan was not being cryptic. It was simply a fact that no one knew how long a Goggelai should last. The ceremony would define itself, the visiting humans were told. They would have to be satisfied with that. Ancient oral guidelines, Fawn pointed out, were inherently obscure.

  As the last of the torches and la
nterns were lit, the dusky peak of the volcano glowed bronze in the final light of the setting sun. Drinking in the sight both natural and synthetic spread out before her, Fawn Seaforth found that she didn’t care if the Goggelai produced any profound revelations about Parramati culture or not. The spectacle was sufficient unto itself.

  In addition to the unprecedented display of color and design, there was music in abundance. Flutes, stringed instruments, and an astonishing assortment of barbaric percussion filled the evening air with energetic melodies interspersed with eruptive bursts of jagged rhythm. Unable to resist the seductive ostinatos, many of the assembled dignitaries were soon chanting and dancing in place. While Fawn occasionally found her own body twisting and arching in time to the alien tempo, Pulickel was apparently immune to all such melodic blandishments.

  He remained stolidly in place, his recorder whirring, doing his best not to stare disapprovingly—or otherwise—in her direction.

  As for the mysterious, revered howling stones themselves, their actual appearance was something of a letdown. Carried in woven bags or brought forth in intricately patterned baskets, they looked no different from any of the other stones the visitors had seen. Irregular lumps of green volcanic glass, some were larger than the growing stone whose use had been demonstrated to Fawn, while others were even smaller than the two stones so briefly borrowed by Pulickel. Several were so big they had to be carried in on hardwood litters supported by four Parramati apiece.

  One by one, the stones were removed from their traveling containers and placed before a big person standing along the inner rim of the great circle that now enclosed the modest meadow, until the grass was ringed with a line of sacred stones. Each stone, Pulickel noted, rested no less than half a meter from its neighbor. None was allowed to touch.

  Even when the ring was complete the procession continued, until two concentric stone circles and part of a third lay gleaming on the ground. The two humans were given free rein to wander in and among the stones and stone masters, musicians and attendants, recording whatever they wished. For the most part even those Parramati they knew, like Ascela and Jorana, ignored them. All were enraptured by the ceremony.

  When Pulickel accidentally tripped over a particularly long stone, no one so much as twitched. As for the stone, it rocked back and forth a couple of times and lay utterly still, a big dark green rock that differed only in color from the igneous escarpment that backed onto the meadow. If it and the several hundred others that had been so laboriously brought together embodied any significant powers, Pulickel reflected, these were being held efficiently in check.

  From Jorana’s original description, he and Fawn had supposed there were no more than a few dozen of the howling stones. The presence of hundreds was therefore the biggest surprise of the evening so far. Judging from the expectant attitude of the assembled, there promised to be more.

  By the time the last vestige of sunlight had fled from the horizon and the scene was lit entirely by torch and lantern light, the chanting and music-making had risen to such a pitch that he had to shout to make himself heard above the noise. The relentless Parramati percussion in particular gave new significance to that part of the ear known as the tympanum. While his recorder could adjust automatically to the rising din, he had to struggle to tolerate it.

  The rolling artificial thunder boomed down the slopes and echoed through the valleys. Fortunate wildlife fled, but he and Fawn had no such option. With luck, he winced as an especially loud burst of music assailed his ears, it would all be over soon.

  Fawn’s thoughts were stumbling down the same discordant path. “I wonder if this is going to go on all night? If so, we could probably return in the morning for the big finish.”

  He checked his chronometer. “No one’s said anything to me about time. We probably ought to inquire. For all we know now, the ceremony could take days.”

  “I suppose we should wait it out awhile before asking. Our presence here is something of an honor, and we don’t want to insult anybody by making it look like we want to leave early.” She smiled encouragingly at him and he nodded reluctantly.

  It was well after midnight when he checked the time again. The music and chanting gave no sign of slackening, the assembled participants no indication that they were running out of steam. If anything, they sang and played louder than ever. Torches and lanterns burned as brightly as at sunset. Fawn’s notion of leaving for a while and returning later was looking more and more attractive. The activity, as well as the hour, was exhausting.

  Those stone masters who dropped out of the inner circle promptly had their positions assumed by others. No such reinforcements waited in the wings for the two tired xenologists. Pulickel found his thoughts drifting more and more often to his room back at the station. His quiet, soundproofed room.

  Without any warning, signal, or fanfare, the music ceased. Chanting fell to a sustained murmur. Several big persons representing the outermost islands of the Parramat Archipelago stepped forward and raised three-fingered hands skyward. The music resumed, only this time it was pointed and brief.

  Words were uttered that neither xenologist recognized, though from their inflection Fawn knew they were archaic. But though those who spoke them might be ignorant of their meaning, they enunciated each one carefully and with great respect.

  Supplicating hands were lowered. Selecting them from the innermost circle, several big persons brought the first stones forward. The two speakers accepted the offerings, placed them on the ground, and pushed them together. Their fatigue now forgotten, Pulickel and Fawn double-checked their recorders and tensed.

  Contact was achieved between stones. Green sparks flew from an emerald flash. Fused, the conjoined stones emitted a steady, soft green glow.

  “What now?” Pulickel whispered aloud.

  “I don’t know. Remember, the Parramati haven’t performed this ceremony in a very long time. They probably aren’t too sure of the consequences themselves.”

  Two more stone masters removed their respective burdens from the circle and brought them forward. Others were preparing to do the same from the opposite side of the ring. One at a time, they added their stones to the lambent green mass in the center of the ceremonial encirclement. With each additional stone the irregular shape added to its size.

  Pulickel watched as a stone as big as his head was placed against the near side of the burgeoning aggregation. Vibrating noticeably, it slid up the side of the mass and rotated several times before slipping neatly into a slot in the top of the heap. Other stones similarly maneuvered themselves into position, displaying an inner animation none of the sacred stones the Parramati used in everyday life had previously exhibited.

  There was no formal organization, no apparent rhyme or reason to the process. The natives merely dumped the parts in a pile, Pulickel realized. Whatever the growing green mass might be, it was putting itself together. It was apparent that in addition to assorted helpful powers, certain stones were possessed of something very different but equally impressive.

  Memory. Memory ancient and, so far, inscrutable.

  By now the refulgent green lump was taller than an adult seni and had assumed a roughly rectangular shape. It sustained its baffling growth as more stones were brought forward and added to the enigmatic structure.

  Fawn leaned close. Even above the excitement and noise, the sights and the pungent presence of hundreds of highly active Parramati, he could still smell the perfume of her.

  “Somehow I don’t think this is intended to make the pohoroh grow bigger or the river run clean,” she whispered.

  The ceremonial stone rings continued to shrink as more and more of the glassy green pieces were added to the growing puzzle. It was far taller than any seni now, but individual stones continued to maneuver themselves up the uneven flanks and fasten themselves to the top, steadily adding to the height of the luminescent mystery. The assembled Parramati were as entranced by their handiwork as were the visiting xenologists.


  By this time the object was putting out so much light that it was impossible to look directly at it for long. In addition to the meadow and the softly chanting circle of natives, it illuminated the surrounding jungle as well as the looming flank of the mountain. Yet heat remained a by-product of the reaction notable only for its absence. The intense green radiance was entirely cool, allowing supplicating stone masters to touch the product of their efforts with impunity. From its apex, a meter-wide shaft of coherent green light suddenly shot skyward to pierce the night sky.

  From the time the first two stones had been brought together, a distant hum had been audible. With the addition of each new stone, this had grown steadily in volume and intensity, until now it vibrated within teeth and bones. It was a whine, a single high mechanical note, an antediluvian call, the song of something endlessly dormant and only now slowly reawakening.

  A howling.

  Few stones remained, and these were piously added to the pile. Pulickel saw Fawn shielding her eyes as she tried to follow the activity. Meanwhile, except for suffusing the meadow with light and sound, the impressive green agglomeration had done nothing. The world hadn’t shifted on its axis, the ground beneath his feet remained stable and the solid, grassy growth common to Senisran still cushioned his sandaled feet.

  Even if whatever it was managed to complete itself, he realized, that didn’t mean that anyone present would know what to do with the final result. He wondered if any of the orbiting surveillance and survey satellites put up by the Commonwealth and the AAnn were presently in position to detect the green beam and, if so, what they would make of it. Couldn’t worry about that now, he knew.

  The last stone was brought forward and reverently placed against the mass, which by this time was the size and approximate shape of a Parramati longhouse. The stone efficiently slid up and around the right side to settle itself into and fill one remaining gap. Pulickel and Fawn tensed, but nothing happened. Together with the Parramati they found themselves confronting a substantial structure that put out a vast intensity of green light, and it in turn confronted them.